Expedition Beyond Read online

  “Oom wants to know how long.”

  “Three, four days,” Des guessed. “After four days, make the fire as hot as possible with both bellows. When the metal melts, collect it and pound it while it cools. Do not put it in water, but let it cool slowly. Pound it flat.”

  Anastasia relayed all of this to Oom, who continued to rub his chin.

  “He wants to know why,” she told Des.

  “Tell him he can melt it again and make one of these,” Des held the iron sword by the hilt, “with an edge sharp enough to split a hair, and so strong, it will not break.”

  After they’d left, Oom pumped the fire hotter.

  The stranger had known rocks. He’d picked up the two most valuable first. Anastasia had told him Des made war clubs; he professed to know how to make sharper and stronger swords. Eyeing his kiln, Oom tried to envision an additional bellows. With more air, the fire could be made to burn even hotter. He looked at his experimental sword. Cut it into pieces and bake it with charcoal, Des had said, so a stronger and sharper sword could be forged.

  And why would this man want to give Anastasia such a gift as the silver ring? Oom was sure Des didn’t know he’d made most of the jewelry for the women in the village because they certainly wouldn’t be wearing it now, but he hadn’t made that ring—it was from the locker. Oom knew a fine piece of jewelry when he saw one. In fact, the piece he’d given Des was probably his best. Des truly admired the ring and had thanked him even before Anastasia translated. If the stranger knew rocks and jewelry, then he might be right about the kiln.

  Oom moved a small wooden box to cover the tiny space left empty in the seafarer’s chest in his hut. Three thousand individually boxed rings were left. He closed the wood chest’s iron-hinged lid.

  As they walked up the path from the shore, Des asked Anastasia, “Do you know what jewelry is?”

  “I don’t know that word.”

  “Jewelry is…uh…bright metal decorations to wear on your ears or around your neck, wrist, or finger.”

  Anastasia stopped. “So, Oom told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  “He makes…jewelry.”

  “War clubs and jewelry?”

  “Abba.”

  “So you do have it. Then why does no one wear any jewelry?”

  “Because it is forbidden until the men return; it would be too…too...”

  “Too vain,” Des supplied.

  “Abba, too main.”

  When they arrived at the museum to meet Itar, the heavy iron door was open and the old woman was waiting for them.

  Itar arrived soon after with his small entourage. His guards brought the elder into the museum on his litter and put it down near the war club display.

  Des thought Itar appeared frailer and paler than when he’d last seen him. “Itar! How are you?”

  “I am old. Good days and bad.”

  Des remembered there had been something potentially useful in the museum, but what it was had slipped from his mind. He surveyed the exhibits. Pottery. War clubs. Basket-weaving. Foods farmed from the earth. Filled water vases. The inner locked door. He paused in front of the broken bow and arrow on green velvet.

  Des picked up one of the reed blowguns, to the dismay of the curator, and brought it over to Itar. He laid it down in front of him.

  “Itar, do you have any bad frogs here? Do dangerous frogs live here?”

  “’Dangerous frogs’?” Itar repeated, confused.

  “Frogs—little green animals who say ribet, ribet.” Des hopped around the floor in his best frog imitation.

  Itar found this amusing, but not apparently elucidating. “El animal peligroso?”

  “Si, el animal peligroso,” Des replied.

  “No, no animal peligroso,” Itar said. After a pause, he added suddenly, “El animal tóxico! La rana?”

  Des belatedly remembered that was the Spanish word for frog. He was ecstatic: Itar knew of poisonous frogs.

  “Yes, Itar, abba!”

  Itar spoke gruffly to the curator, who responded with equal gruffness. They squabbled for a bit, then she left. She returned with a large crucible and set it on the floor next to Des.

  He opened the lid. Inside were frog skins in a clear liquid.

  Des grinned. He retrieved a dart from the blowgun display, then mimed dipping the tip in the liquid. He loaded the dart inside the gun, then blew forcefully. The dart stuck into the table bearing the foods from the earth.

  “The beast,” Des said, as he pulled the dart from the wood.

  Itar’s face lit up. “Ahhh!”

  “Ahhh!” Des repeated.

  Itar said, “No work. Fish, yes; beast, no.”

  Des was certain that Itar was referring to dosage—dipping the dart could only paralyze small animals. But Africans brought down large game with this weapon. He examined the dart more closely and saw a pinhole in the tip’s end. He twisted until the corkscrew halves came apart. The wooden plunger inside had seized.

  “Itar, the dart is too dry. Soak it in water, and this moves. Fill it with poison, and the beast will die.”

  Itar grinned toothlessly.

  “Itar, we need all of these blowguns at E-shandra tomorrow, with the darts. The warriors must practice.”

  When Itar nodded, Des said, “Please follow me.”

  He led Itar’s guards over to the padlocked door where they set down his litter.

  “Itar, what does this say? What do these words mean in my tongue?”

  Itar concentrated. “It says...it says, ‘Dangerous.’” He smiled at Des.

  “Yes, I know that part.” Des smiled back. Give Itar half a chance, and he would become fluent in English.

  Itar ran his finger along the Spanish words. “’Inside this room lies Diablo himself. He who opens this door will kill everyone. Death.’”

  Obviously written by crusading teetotalers, Des thought. Mitch would never survive here with no meat and no booze. It was the second time Des had thought about his best friend that day. Des hoped he had escaped the tentacled thing in the abyss, but he would probably never know. That world was most likely lost to him forever.

  “Maybe we should open the door,” Des said to Itar, thinking that they should to dispel the mystery and search for useful tools.

  The old man shivered. “Maybe we should not.”

  “Well, maybe someday,” Des sighed.

  “No,” Itar said firmly. “Never.”

  Anastasia served salmon with almonds and rice for dinner.

  Des moved his pen and parchment to one side. “How would you say ‘war is hell’?”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is.” Des buttered some freshly baked bread and took a bite of fish. “It’s good.”

  “Thank you. What is ‘war’?”

  “Big-time fighting. Us against the beasts.”

  “And what is ‘hell’?”

  “A bad place. A place worse than bad. Somewhere that is evil, ugly, empty.”

  “E-cock-a-ou-e sa unna ti.”

  Des wrote it down on the parchment, spelling it phonetically.

  “How about: ‘We have nothing to fear but fear itself.’” He could use all the best quotes from history and label them as his own without anyone realizing he’d plagiarized.

  “Des, what are you doing?”

  “Well, when the time is right, I’ll need to address the troops, to speak to them, to get them prepared to fight and eager to win. I want to do this with a speech in their language, so I need your help. I can write down how your words sound to me and repeat them later. Will you help?

  “Of course. Sometimes you...you surprise me.”

  Later that night, Des was awakened by Anastasia’s restlessness.

  “What’s the matter, love?”

  “Des, what
if this is the end of everything? What if the beasts win and kill us all?”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “But what if you can’t stop them?”

  “Then I shall be with you always.”

  Tears welled in Anastasia’s eyes. “I don’t think that is possible.”

  “Anything is possible,” Des said, hugging her tightly.

  Chapter 19

  LATITUDE 82° 10’ NORTH

  LONGITUDE 73° 42’ WEST

  LAPTITUDE 68%

  Month 2, Day 27: 1515 UTC, 9:15 AM LTD

  Des held a meter-long branch that forked like a divining rod. He used one pointed end to draw a large circle in the sand, then a concentric circle. “Gravitational effect,” he said to himself, adding an arrow above the outer circle, pointing downward. He drew another arrow inside the inner circle directly opposite the first, so the two arrows pointed at each other.

  He thought of Alée’s amazed expression when she’d struggled with her war club when Des had stood on Sight Rock, before she’d fallen to her knee and bowed. Then he remembered how the fire at Say-ance had almost extinguished when he’d walked over the logs, but had burned brightly when he’d thought about his sister. Could he have been the catalyst? In this upside-down world, might he be able to control gravity, or even reverse it? Or was gravity already reversed for him? The warriors were eager to follow him, but he didn’t know why.

  He planted the shaft of the branch firmly into the sand and backed away, glancing around warily to make sure no one was watching him.

  “Stick, come to me,” he commanded.

  The stick didn’t move.

  Des motioned to it. “Stick, now!”

  Not a twitch.

  “Fine!” Des grumbled, turning and walking away, feeling foolish. So he didn’t have power of levitation. Still, there was something inexplicable.

  He felt a soft rap on his back. When he turned, the branch lay in the sand directly behind him.

  Goosebumps prickled his skin. Attitude, Des surmised—it has to do with a state of mind. When something had moved before, he’d always been angry.

  Des righted the branch. “Stick, move over there! Do it now!”

  Two passing warriors shot worried glances at Des.

  Great, Des thought. Now they’ll all think I’m nuts!

  The captains sat around the fire at Say-ance; Itar had powdered the flames and they ignited in sparkling brilliance. The old man’s guards stood behind him, and Anastasia was nearby. In addition to Alée the warriors present were Saya, Elan, Mio, Ena and Trebliskis.

  Saya was tall and slender. Her slanted, dark brown eyes contrasted with her anemic complexion and bland expressions; she wore her jet-black hair spiked in a Mohawk. The high collar of her white silk tunic emphasized her long neck.

  Elan was a dark-skinned bull of a woman dressed in red who reminded Des of a Sumo wrestler, almost as wide as tall. Her military-tight haircut exaggerated the prominent eyes and full lips of her fierce face.

  Beautiful Mio had curly, red hair and wore a frilly, white tunic over large breasts and a small waist. Her light green skin twinkled when she moved.

  Ena and Trebliskis were twins who dressed alike in sky-blue light woolen tunics. Tawny and muscular, they moved so gracefully Des could imagine them easily crossing the forest unseen.

  “What happens when the beasts return?” Des asked Anastasia.

  “A fishing boat with two or three beasts rows to shore first. One beast stays on the boat while the other—or others...”

  “Checks things out on shore, comes onto the land,” Des finished for her. “They make sure everything is normal? A decoy, in case something is wrong?”

  “Yes, and they hurt the young women,” Anastasia added.

  “Then what happens?”

  “Then the big boats with the men come—usually there are three. They come close to the shore and many beasts wade to land to use the women. The rest bring the men ashore, but they must wait in line to be released. The beasts set up a table and write each man’s name and have him sign the book.”

  “Is everyone here allowed to stand around on the beach while the men are released?”

  “Yes, but no one can go past the table or toward the boats.”

  “Can you carry war clubs?”

  “No. Weapons are forbidden.”

  “After they release the men, the beasts leave?”

  “They will take food, then leave…until the next time,” Anastasia said sadly.

  “There will be no next time. We will slay the beasts before they return to their boats.” Des had been formulating a plan to divide and conquer. “Mio, we need women who can lure beasts inside houses. Ena, we need warriors already there who will club the beasts to death.”

  Anastasia translated; they nodded.

  Des said, “Alée’s team will silently board the boats so that the beasts on land will not become alarmed.”

  He demonstrated how they could breathe underwater using the bamboo stick he’d gotten from Oom. He tied a small fishing net holding rocks to his waist as a weight belt, then showed them how they could climb over the gunwales using grapnel and rope.

  Alée nodded with understanding.

  “Since the beasts will take sheep and maybe the cattle, we need flock tenders and more warriors hidden around the flock, Elan.”

  When Anastasia had translated, Elan nodded.

  Des continued: “The beasts will be on guard for anything that looks unusual. We need plenty of greeters on the beach. Saya, your team will take the men away as soon as they have been released. I understand that they’ll be too weak to be helpful, so get them to safety and guard them. Trebliskis, your team will also be on the beach. You will be in charge of a frontal assault, if necessary, and mopping up.”

  Des then explained how they would hide war clubs under upturned, beached fishing boats.

  Anastasia interrupted her translation to ask, “Des, what is a frontal assault?”

  “They flip over the canoes, grab their war clubs, and rush the boats.”

  “And ‘mopping up’?”

  “They kill any beasts that return from the houses, whether to attack or to escape.”

  Itar pondered the plan. “Is good.”

  “It better be good because we get only one chance. All of the teams must work together to be successful. There has to be a rhythm because if anyone is out of step with the plan, it’s over.”

  The warriors’ faces showed excitement, not fear, and Des felt that to be a good sign.

  “Things will go wrong,” he warned them through Anastasia. “No plan is a good one unless it can change to fit the situation. We must study the possibilities to be able to flow with any of them. That is the key to success, that is the way we’ll destroy the beasts.”

  The captains were told to bring their warriors to this village in four days, along with sufficient food and supplies. The local villagers would need to make room in their houses, so everything would appear as normal as possible, in case the beasts sent spies.

  “In seven days, we will hold a rally at E-shandra.”

  “What is ‘rally’?” Itar asked.

  “Everyone, from everywhere, comes together to prepare for war. We unite to become as one. I hope the queen will attend.”

  Itar closed his eyes and appeared to choose his words carefully before he opened them and spoke.

  “I do not think the queen can…afford to not come.”

  Chapter 20

  ANDERSON VENT ONE, AUSTRALIA

  ORMISTON GORGE, WEST OF ALICE SPRINGS

  LATITUDE 23° 43’ SOUTH

  LONGITUDE 133° 55’ EAST

  LAPTITUDE 17%

  Month 2, Day 28; 0100 UTC, 10:30 AM LTD

  John Severin looked past Amy’s hardhat, through
the chain-link of the cage he was in, and watched the infrared lights hung on the abyss wall as they whizzed by. The two-meter by two-meter enclosure had enough seating for six passengers.

  “I hope this thing has brakes,” Amy said. Her blue overalls were zipped shut against the cold.

  “It has to move fast. Otherwise, it would take days to get down here,” John replied, noticing that Amy’s eyes looked tired and her usual perky attitude had mellowed.

  “Yeah, but this thing is plunging!” Amy said.

  A larger elevator passed them racing upward; red lights glowed eerily on its empty floor.

  “Shouldn’t be long now,” John said, glancing at his watch.

  Their speed decreased. John saw a huge florescent “Level 10” in orange block letters on the rock wall, and they bumped softly to a stop against the platform floor.

  A man in a hardhat and safety goggles unlocked the cage and the scissor door opened.

  “Welcome to Level Ten,” Bill Evans greeted them as he helped them out onto the wooden platform.

  The foreman was wearing blue dungarees over stocky legs. A pack of Pall Mall cigarettes protruded from one rolled-up sleeve circling a massive bicep.

  “What’s the problem?” John demanded.

  “Problem?”

  “Why did you call us down here? What’s holding up progress?”

  “Nothing, I hope. We should be able to build three platforms a week, if cable isn’t in short supply.”

  While John was talking with his employee, Amy was wandering around the sparsely furnished platform. Near the center was a table with two computers, a telephone and a glass dome covering an unlit blue light bulb. Two chairs were tucked under the table. Nearby was a drafting board covered with architectural drawings; a small white light illuminated the top draft. The rest of the platform held inventory: piles of coiled cable, pallets of boards and steel I-beams. A waist-high railing surrounded the square elevator shaft. A San-O-Let portable toilet stood past the far railing. She leaned out over the balustrade, peering into the darkness below.

  “I wouldn’t do that, unless you want your head removed by the next supply tram that goes by. They tend to zoom through here,” Bill warned her.

  Amy straightened. “So when will we get there and how long will it take?”